Anthony, Piers - Triple Detente

109 Pages·2016·0.4 MB·English

by  Anthony Piers

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www.ABBYY.cobm y Piers Anthony www.ABBYY.com
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 |
Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12
Chapter 1
Captain Henrys passed quietly through the interior lock and entered the barracks section. The off-shift
was here, relaxing. They were sprawled on the bunks, some reading, some asleep, some writing fervent
letters home. Several were talking in the passage between the lines of bunks, hunched over for privacy.
For an instant he felt a surge of resentment. In scant hours there would be success—or death. Yet here
they were, loafing! But he caught himself knowing that they had to relax now if they were to be fit to
fight then. His real ire stemmed from suppressed jealousy, for he could never ease off, and had no girl
back home to dream of.
The sergeant of the hour spotted Henrys. "At ease!" he barked.
The chatter stopped immediately. Dice dropped to the floor and bounced as the nature of the huddle was
betrayed. Henrys kept his eyes straight ahead, his signal that he hadn't caught anything illicit, and the
men relaxed.
The sergeant stood up to report, but Henrys gestured him back. "Bruce," he said softly.
A young man jumped off his bunk and snapped to attention. "Sir?"
"Letter from Margie," Henrys said, putting his hand inside his jacket. "Mailspec's on special assignment,
so I'm passing 'em out myself."
Bruce hesitated only momentarily. "Gee, thanks, sir. I didn't know the mail was in." He stepped up to
receive it.
But it was a blaster Henrys brought out, not a letter.
The crewman stopped, startled. "I don't understand, sir."
"I sincerely hope you don't," Henrys said. "If you move, you are dead."
The other men edged away, placing themselves out of the line of fire. "But what have I done?" Bruce
asked plaintively.
Henrys' eyes never left him, and his weapon did not waver. "Tell him, Sergeant."
The sergeant looked grim. "Margie is another man's wife."
Bruce looked amazed. "You mean you'd shoot a man for a coincidence of names? Who else—?"
"My wife," the sergeant said. "Only Margie who writes here."
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www.ABBYY.co"mBut my girl is—" www.ABBYY.com
"Your girl is Lucy," the sergeant said. "She hasn't written for a month, and it looks like a Dear John
situation, which is why the subject hasn't come up recently. Maybe a lucky break, at that."
Bruce leaped—and the blaster fired. The crackle of lightning burst about his body, transfiguring him in
midair. Then the corpse fell, smoking.
The men uncovered their ears and reopened their eyes. Henrys had paused just that fraction of a second
necessary to give them that chance, for a blaster-bolt in closed quarters was hell on personnel. Now they
crowded around, shaken.
The sergeant drew his knife. "Witnesses," he said.
Two of the dicers raised their hands. "Cap'n gave fair warning," one affirmed. " 'If you move, you are
dead,' he said, those same words."
"And Bruce moved," the other said.
"And he booted the call," the sergeant added. "Legitimate suspicion, right?"
The others nodded tensely. The sergeant looked at Henrys. "Now, sir?"
"Yes." Henrys' lips were almost white.
The knife moved down and sliced into the charred arm of the dead man. The sergeant put muscle into it,
cutting deeply, searching for an undamaged artery. He found it.
The blood that welled out was bright blue.
The crewmen began to mutter, letting their tension drain with the blood. The sergeant looked up, his
face grim. "How did you know, sir? He had the rest of us fooled..."
Henrys avoided answering. "I think this was the only one. But play it safe from now on. If any of you
suspect a man you see is actually a Kazo infiltrator, cover him and bring him to me immediately. If he
balks, scorch him. In front of witnesses, preferably!" He smiled briefly, acknowledging his own
uncertainty, just resolved. "If someone mistakes you for a Kazo, you go with him, no argument. A little
cut is better than a suicide."
"Sir," the sergeant said. He received the nod. "Suppose a Kazo covers up by drawing on a human? He
could scorch the guy who maybe suspected him, then say it was a mistake."
"Good point," Henrys said. "Very well—I'll cut both parties—first the suspect, then the one who brings
him in. And any man who scorches another will be cut himself—and scorched if he balks. OK?"
The men nodded. It was a grim prospect, but the situation required harsh measures, and they knew it.
And they respected the man with the guts to do what was necessary.
Henrys held out his own arm. "So cut, Sergeant."
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www.ABBYY.co"mSir, I didn't mean—" www.ABBYY.com
"Officers are suspect too. Cut."
The sergeant set down his blade. "Ecklund—clean knife."
The crewman named provided a new one. The sergeant made a careful slice into the captain's exposed
flesh. The blood that dripped was red.
"There's the precedent," the sergeant said. "You pass, Captain."
Henrys indicated the body. "Take it to the doc for autopsy." He turned about and left them, ignoring his
arm.
Alone, he permitted himself a shudder. Hehadn't known about Bruce. But he had heard wild stories
about Kazo metamorphosis, and all officers had been briefed on identification procedure. Cutting was
crude—but fast and sure, requiring no laboratory. Any delay in verification was intolerable; entire ships
had been sabotaged by such infiltration. It was possible that some of the ships of this very Earth fleet
were now under enemy control, waiting for battle...
So he had assumed the worst, and reasoned it out: only certain crew members had been offship in the
past month. If the Kazos were to infiltrate his own command, it would have to be through one of these.
Seven, in all.
He cursed himself for not having checked earlier. What the men thought was an act of courage and
discipline had actually been a desperation ploy. Sheer luck had brought him through the twin prospects
for failure: overlooking a Kazo spy, or killing a human being. But he had been so busy with the
preparations for this giant fleet rendezvous, getting his ship in order, memorizing combat formations...
and, of course, every crewman had his clearance from the base hospital. No need to second-guess the
medics... except that it was now apparent that the clearances could be forged. The infiltrator had
gambled that no secondary check would be made, in the rush of fleet maneuvers—and had almost won.
But Captain Henrys made it a point to know every man in his command personally. When the dark
suspicion had come to him, he had gone through the little list, checking each suspect out through simple
conversation. He knew the minor gripes and problems, the names of the sisters and girlfriends, the
childhood illnesses and fears, the verbal dialects and social ploys. John Dykes was certainly the same
crewman he had known, and Arnold Cabber, and two more. He had about decided that his suspicion was
paranoid, and was gratified that he had not made an open declaration of it. But because he always
finished what he started, even when it seemed foolish, he had continued.
Now, carelessly, he had caught one. He had exposed the spy in public, forcing a showdown. The word
would spread all over the ship in minutes, alerting any other spy that might be aboard. And two
prospects remained to be checked. Bitool and Smith.
Henrys climbed to the null-grav tunnel that passed the full length of the ship. He boosted himself into a
slow free-fall forward, then tuned out his surroundings while he pieced out the problem. He was being
mooted as a hero, surely, but he had acted foolishly in two ways: by revealing his search prematurely,
and by actually killing the alien. He should have been more subtle, not letting the creature know its
identity was suspect—then capturing it bloodlessly for interrogation. A stun-beam would knock out a
Kazo as readily as a man. So obvious, in retrospect!
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www.ABBYY.coTm hat was a flaw he recognized in his own nature, a double flaw: carelessness and thoughtlessness www.ABBYY.com
unbefitting an officer of his rank. Unbefitting any man—for the same flaws had destroyed his marriage.
But he would make the best of the situation—that was a strength in his nature, he trusted!—and see what
benefit he might redeem from his error. There was a good chance that only one Kazo had infiltrated, in
which case little had been lost. His chances of actually capturing a live Kazo and making it talk were
minimal, as the creatures tended to go berserk when exposed. In any event, he could eliminate any doubt
by arresting both remaining suspects and checking them physically. Kazos were blue, inside and out; if
they impregnated their skins with human-color pigment, they still flowed blue within. One cut—
But they were warned, now. Any direct approach—surely they had bombs stashed away, or nerve gas, or
perhaps wave-jammers. Any move on his part could be fatal to himself and the ship.
Yet he had to be certain. A momentous battle was shaping up—perhaps even that Ragnarok that would
exterminate all civilization. He could not tolerate even the suspicion of Kazo infiltration aboard his
vessel.
Maybe he had a chance, though. Obviously the aliens' purpose was not to incapacitate the ship early, for
"Bruce"—he would have to message the command ship about that, and issue a general warning—Bruce
had bided his time, not reacting until discovered. No—they would wait until it counted. Until his ship
actually engaged a Kazo ship, or perhaps when the Earth fleet neared Kazo itself. Just as an Earth agent
would do, to stop his home planet from being bombed. Even the increasing risk of exposure would not
justify blowing cover prematurely. One ship was nothing; it was the fleet situation that counted.
He decided. He caught the handhold leading to the officers' deck and dropped to the floor, his weight
manifesting as he picked up the rotation of the ship. Topside—actually the deep interior—was fractional
gravity, but the outer shell was Earth norm, and therefore contained most of the working stations.
He strode into the command room and spoke into the general address mike: "Captain Henrys speaking.
We have spotted and disarmed a Kazo infiltrator aboard the Lliane." Criminal euphemism? He had
murdered the alien, not disarmed it! Why was he unable to speak the truth everyone knew? "The internal
menace has been abated—but we are nearing the enemy sector of space, and the rendezvous may not be
amicable. Alert status. Lieutenant Bitool to the command room."
In moments Bitool appeared. The captain stroked his square jaw with his left hand. His right was on the
blaster concealed within his jacket. A blaster was a good weapon for use inside a ship, for it scorched
personnel without ever puncturing the hull; still, he should have thought to pick up a stunner. The man
did not look alien...
"Lieutenant, you will be serving here in the control room for the duration. But first fetch me the record
on Smith."
Bitool nodded and left. Fetching files was the task of an enlisted orderly—but job and rank distinctions
blurred in the course of battle duty. Strange name: Bitool. But naturally the potential alien infiltrator
would choose a common one, like Bruce—or Smith.
Henrys ran his free hand through his straight black hair. How to play it? He did not want to kill again—
but all too soon the fleet would make that fateful rendezvous with the Kazo fleet, and he could tolerate
no traitor aboard. Yet if he challenged the man directly and happened to catch another spy...?
The lieutenant returned, carrying a small file folder. He was short—about five-six—and had a receding
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www.ABBYY.cohm airline. Kazos were that size, and bald. Bitool's fingers were quite long. Kazos had only three fingers, www.ABBYY.com
but they were completely limber, almost like tentacles. It should be easy to tell whether two fingers of a
seemingly human hand were artificial—but it was not. A man normally used only the thumb and
forefinger separately, the remaining three digits acting together, except for such specialized skills as
typing. But Henrys himself was a two-fingered typist, so that was no test for alien limitation. A Kazo
could fashion a functioning human hand, and there really was no way to tell in the normal course.
Henrys did not look at the folder immediately. "I like to know my men as individuals," he murmured,
sitting at the small map table and gesturing Bitool down opposite. "But you transferred in recently, and
these are busy times. In this crisis I fear I have neglected you."
Bitool smiled, a little nervously. "I understand, sir. It's no piece of cake, this perimeter duty."
"Piece of cake?"
The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. "No easy job. The whole fleet is tense. And so am I."
"Yes, of course," Henrys agreed. He remembered the expression, but thought it had passed out of
fashion a generation ago, at least. Which made it the kind of thing a Kazo spy might have researched
from a captured history text or period novel. On the other hand, slang wove in and. out of the culture
elusively, defying the inhibitions of the lexicographers, and this item could be in vogue again. It proved
nothing.
"Is there something about Crewman Smith, sir?" Bitool inquired after a moment.
Henrys opened the folder. "There may be. He was granted planetary leave on a colony world three
weeks ago."
"I remember. That was the same time I was transferred here to the Lliane. I rode the boarding shuttle up
with him. Nice enough chap."
Chap. Dated, surely. Contemporary crewmen were "slicks" or "zonks," depending on their experience.
Not "chaps." But even if a spy's experience among men were limited to three weeks, he'd pick that up.
Kazos were extremely apt at language, being able to master a completely alien system in a matter of
days, including the nuances of dialect. So the spy would not be caught that way, and "chap" was
probably a personal affectation of speech. Sometimes crewmen picked up dated slang from material in
the ship's library, and sported it for a few days like a variant in uniform, to relieve the monotony.
"They're all nice," Henrys said. "When you know them. That's why it hurts so when they die."
"Sir?" Bitool seemed genuinely surprised.
"Didn't the grapevine catch you? Bruce."
"I'm not much for crew-gossip, sir. I don't have the rank to mix with the men without attrition of
authority, and I'm still new to this ship. Accident?"
"Enemy casualty."
Bitool shook his head uncomprehendingly. "I saw him this past mess, Captain. TheLliane has had no
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www.ABBYY.coam ction in the interim." Then he did a double take. "The infiltrator you disarmed! Is that—?" www.ABBYY.com
"The same. You did not see Bruce at mess. He died three days before you met him, on his own planetary
leave."
"A Kazo! You captured it?"
"I killed it."
Bitool's shoulders dropped. "Thank God!"
The relief seemed genuine. Because the man feared any living enemy—or because a dead spy could not
betray the living one? "It was murder," Henrys said. "They are living, conscious creatures, as we are;
they have families at home that suffer as ours do. I do not thank my God for this act of mine; I shall do
penance before Him for my folly."
"But a Kazo spy!"
"We are all God's creatures."
Bitool looked at him, face going blank. "Of course, sir. But war is war."
"Damn war to hell!" Henrys exploded. "It corrupts us all! Today I blasted a creature who was trying to
save his world, when I would rather have been his friend, or at least made honest truce with him. War
has made me less than a man."
There was a silence, during which the staccato of the fleet radio standby signal became loud. Then
Bitool spoke again: "But how did you know?"
It took Henrys a moment to reconstruct the basis for the question. It would be about his discovery of the
spy. "Process of elimination," he said, leafing through the folder. "No alien could have boarded my ship
in space; the hull's electrified. It had to be by replacement of existent crewmen—and access to these is
limited. So I checked out everyone who was offship in the past month."
"Why not for a longer period, sir? I should think—"
"There was a thorough physical a month ago. X-rays, blood samples—the entire complement was
covered. It is not hard to spot a Kazo, medically; even a thermometer check will show that three-degree
temperature elevation. Or a simple handshake."
"I have heard they can bring that down, temporarily," Bitool said. "They control heat dissipation by
radiation... but I appreciate your point. Infiltration has to be recent. But what made you suspicious?"
"Just intuition. I wondered what I would do, if I were the commander of the Kazo perimeter defense,
anticipating an engagement with a fleet whose firepower was superior to mine. The answer was not
difficult to fathom."
"Not at all!" Bitool agreed. "It would have been a bad show to enter battle with an alien saboteur
aboard!"
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www.ABBYY.coBm ad show. Dated, again. "No doubt. But we cannot afford to assume that the danger is past." www.ABBYY.com
Bitool smiled easily. "Allow me to anticipate you, sir. The smart commander would not depend on a
single infiltrator, would he? He would try to get at least two aboard, so that if one were discovered—"
Henrys nodded. "That was my thought, yes. It occurred to me that one should be a decoy, reasonably
easy to spot. The other—"
"But as you said, Kazos are not difficult to identify—"
"Except when they are primed to berserk at the moment of exposure. Young Bruce leaped for me, and if
I hadn't had him covered—"
The lieutenant considered. "Yes, I suppose that complicates it. But this is still no reason to tolerate
infiltration by the enemy, who is surely not aboard to help your battle effort. Why not test the entire
complement, right now, just to make certain?"
Henrys found his place in the folder. He set his finger on it, then looked up to meet Bitool's gaze.
"Exposure means killing—we know that. I'm still shaky from the murder I committed half an hour ago. I
ought to radio the fleet commander to advise him of discovery of the spy—but I'm afraid that would lead
to much slaughter."
"But you can't keep silent!" Bitool cried. "Whole ships may have been incapacitated already, or even
taken over by the enemy. If it comes to a fight in space—"
"I am aware of that risk. But I'd much rather talk with a Kazo, not fight him! And so would Earth's
command. That's why we're on this mission! We have to be ready for battle, certainly—but if we can
negotiate a truce between our species, and then a lasting peace—"
"How is real peace possible, when there can be no real trust?" Bitool asked. "To the Kazos, men are
vermin to be exterminated by any means—"
"That is heresy!" Henrys snapped. "If we delude ourselves about their very real concerns, they will
delude themselves about ours. Isolation fosters suspicion. There must be a closer contact between Earth
and Kazo, if only to dissipate such attitudes of ignorance."
Bitool backed off. "Yes, you're right! I apologize for my prejudice. But still, let me radio the warning—"
"No." Did the man realize that spies would intercept any such message, and be warned? "It could spread
needless alarm."
"Needless? Let's assume there is another Kazo infiltrator. He could already have sabotaged the ship."
"Which means I can't afford to kill him," Henrys pointed out. "Not before I know for certain whether he
has or has not planted a bomb—or done other mischief. And I can't just ask him, since exposure
means—"
"Oh, surely the real spy—the one the decoy protects—would not be a berserker," Bitool said warmly.
"As you pointed out, the Kazos must have sensible concerns, and are not ravening creatures of hate. He
would have to be more intelligent, adaptable, able to assess his options. In fact, I should think his
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www.ABBYY.comm otives would be very similar to yours. What rational creature would choose devastating war in www.ABBYY.com
preference to honorable peace?"
"One who feared he could not trust his enemy?" the captain asked in return.
"Are the two species really enemies? Are any species of this galaxy, who have mastered space travel and
all the pyramid of technology beneath it, really alien to each other? If only they knew each other
directly, as one officer on a ship might know another, and comprehended how similar their motives
were—surely space is big enough."
"To know each other like that—that would require a prior condition of peace," Henrys said.
Bitool sighed. "Is there no way out?"
Henrys looked down at the place his finger marked. "Wallace Smith—treated two weeks ago for fungus
rot on the left forearm."
"He must have picked it up during his leave. No crisis."
Henrys closed the file. "Are you familiar with the treatment for colony fungus rot?"
"Of course! I've had spots of it myself in the past. Takes about a week to manifest, after exposure, but
then it's persistent. Only way to cure it for certain is to slice away the contaminated skin and destroy it.
Uncomfortable, but necessary—and minor, when caught early."
Henrys nodded. "So Smith cannot be a Kazo. It would have shown up when the medic cut him."
"That's a relief to hear. How many suspects remain to be checked?"
"Just one, now."
Bitool paused, then smiled. "Sir, I rather like your manner, if it is not impertinent to say so."
"I like to know my men. You may speak freely."
"You are a forthright man, yet you appreciate the occasional need to be devious. I should think that if all
men were like you, there would seldom be occasion for war. Anywhere."
Henrys shook his head. "Circumstance makes wars, not men. When the order comes, I shall do what is
necessary, however distasteful I personally may find it."
"Circumstance," Bitool said musingly. "If it had not been for the alien menace, I would have mated..."
Mated. Not married. Now Henrys was sure—and sure, too, that the usage was no slip. He faced a
confessed Kazo.
"I was married," Henrys said, keeping both hands visible on the table. Bitool's own were there, too, the
tips of the fingers almost touching his own. "But that same menace broke it up. I was at space too
much..."
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www.ABBYY.coTm he fleet receiver interrupted its staccato. "Henrys—pattern twenty-three." The bleep resumed. www.ABBYY.com
Henrys kept his eyes on Bitool while his hand went to the ship intercom. "The alien fleet has been
sighted," he said into the mike. "All hands to battle stations. We are assigned to escort the flagship for
the conference, and it is possible that I shall be participating in the truce negotiations. This is a peace
mission. Do not fire without word from Lieutenant Bitool or me." He continued with specific directions
for other officers, so that the ship would assume its appropriate position in the complex battle-ready
formation that was pattern twenty-three.
At last he returned to Bitool, though his gaze had never wavered from the other. "They say absence
makes the heart grow fonder—but she was a lusty woman. Humans do not always mate for life."
Bitool's eyes dropped. "Every four years the seaborn ones bloom, and the atmosphere is charged with a
conducive fragrance. We contracted to merge at the height—but my call to service preempted romance.
War before love..."
"I am, I think, older than you," Henrys said. "Even allowing for certain distinctions in chronology and
biology. I had time to marry—but she could not accompany me to space. I was gone as long as a year at
a time—and one day I returned to discover it ended. My baby son was with her mother. I appraised the
situation, and left him there, arranging a stipend for his care. I had hoped to remarry and make a proper
home for him—but the so-called alien menace intruded."
"She waits for me yet, I know," Bitool said. "We do mate for life."
"Perhaps the two of us would have been better off with each other's situations," Henrys murmured. "I
would not have married, had I known—and you at least would have had a loyal family."
"Perhaps." Bitool made a peculiar gesture with his hand, as though some of the fingers were
uncomfortable. "Captain—in the nature of things, one of us may not return to our planet. Possibly
neither. This is not a proper query—but must the planetary antagonism, if it comes to war, be reflected
in the personal?"
"That has never been my desire."
"If Earth should conquer—her name is Fomina, of the Smiling Shellfish district, west continent. Tell her
that Bitool passed honorably."
Henrys nodded. So the name had not even been changed for this alien mission! "My boy is Richard.
Dick Henrys. He is eight—no, nine years old now, in Port York, America. I fear he is growing up wild.
His grandmother is a stern woman—but he needs a father-figure, however distant. This war—"
"If you and I can reach accord, why shouldn't it be possible for our commanders to do the same?" Bitool
asked. "I think I should trust you, Captain, to adhere to what might be agreed, in letter and spirit. There
is no sabotage of the Lliane, and no bomb."
"I appreciate the information," Henrys said, meaning it. "Yet each must serve his own species first.
When the interests of worlds conflict—"
"Surely war conflicts with the interests of each."
ABBYY PClDicFk hTerrae tno sbfouyrmer2.0 ABBYY PClDicFk hTerrae tno sbfouyrmer2.0
www.ABBYY.coHm enrys nodded again. "But the peoples of Earth have warred as long as war has been possible. It seems www.ABBYY.com
to be inherent. Even our courts of law are in essence gladiatorial, with the aggrieved taking arms against
the aggriever, figuratively."
"This is true with us, too. But when the armament of a single ship is capable of destroying all life on a
planet—are there no reasonable limits to such a trial?"
"The fallacy of overkill has never inhibited man. If we have firepower sufficient to wipe out Earth
eleven times, we deem ourselves losers. Against such lunacy, what chance has reason?"
"Reason is equated with treason," Bitool said. "Yet even the military must perceive folly at some point.
We are the military!"
"Therein lies the faint hope of civilization."
"Why did you advise the crew to accept the order to commence fire from me?" Bitool asked after a
moment. "You cannot know what my target might be! Your act seems nonsensical, in view of—"
Henrys sighed. "As we agreed: trust must begin somewhere. There is no risk I would not take, not
excluding death or treason, in the interest of genuine peace. And this ship must have a captain, whatever
develops. I may be required to transfer temporarily to the command ship, if the negotiations become
complex and additional opinions are sought."
"Yet we both know that trust itself can be folly—"
"Greater folly than distrust?"
Bitool spread his hands. "You have taught me something, Captain. I hope you do have occasion to make
your own views felt. I shall not disappoint your trust, given occasion. But still I fear..."
"May our fears unite us!" Henrys said.
Chapter 2
Dick Henrys and Jonathan Teller were playing tag along the paved alleys on the way home from school.
Jon was a year older, and perhaps two years smarter—but his father, like Dick's, was a spaceman. This
was a thing of mingled pride and loneliness, for neither boy saw his father more than a few weeks in a
year, and less than ever now that the Kazo war was on. The other boys tended to exclude them, almost
as if they were responsible for the alien threat. Not openly, because the two were smart, hard-hitting
scrappers, but the onus was there.
Actually it was a more subtle, insidious thing. Dick's father was an officer, the captain of a ship, while
Jon's was enlisted. But when either man came home he would take both boys out for a good time, seeing
the shows and riding the rides that the maternal faction never permitted, and both would call him "Dad."
Their philosophies were generally more liberal than those of the homeworlders; neither spaceman would
condemn the aliens as evil. "They're just doing their thing, same as us," Spec Teller said. "They run a
tight ship, defending their own," Captain Henrys agreed. This tolerance was reflected in their sons—but
it sounded akin to treason to the fear-tight families of threatened Earth.